


At the End of the Road I See You with Me

by Pagogo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Harry (at first), Bartender Harry, Bartender Zayn, Bisexual Harry, Fluff, Fluffy Boys, Gay Louis Tomlinson, HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOPE!!, Harry is flirty, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, Lots of laughing, M/M, Minor Violence, Niall has pretty pretty eyes, Niall is very pretty, Slow Burn a little, So many song references, Song Lyrics, Tattoo Artist Harry Styles, Tattoo Artist Liam, and smitten, i hope this is accurate, just saying, many of niall's songs, ooh it's getting there, they're so cute, very gay, very hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pagogo/pseuds/Pagogo
Summary: When tattoo artist and late night bartender, Harry Styles, stumbles across a cute Irish street musician on his way to work, in a flicker, his life is changed forever. Harry just can’t shake the guy, he performs at the bar he works at and just keeps popping into his life and he can’t seem to get those blue eyes out of his head! Maybe someday the pretty street musician could play Harry’s heart strings like the guitar he loves so dearly.[This is a birthday present for my best friend, Hope! I hope you all enjoy!]





	1. He'll Run With Your Mind and Pull You in Tight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yikesikes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikesikes/gifts).



> I am not in the One Direction Fandom so my apologies if I have inaccurate characterization or inaccurate facts. This is a birthday gift for my best friend so I hope she enjoys it. Btw I did a lot of freakin research for this thing, I looked up all of Harry and Louis' tattoos so that they were accurate! I even researched the length of hair I wanted Harry to have for this fic (wavy/down to his chin/a little longer, enough to put in a small lil pony tail.) Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this fic and HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOPE!!!

There are many defining factors and variables that make London, London. There’s the London eye, often a big tourist attraction, and a beautiful way to see the city. There’s Big Ben, the London Bridge, and Buckingham Palace, important and historic locations that draw crowds of fascinated parents and unimpressed children. Another thing you could find in London, like many other big cities was the bustling crowd. Tourist, businessman, and pedestrian alike flooding the streets and sidewalks, going in different directions to get to where they need to be. 

Harry liked the hustle and bustle of the city, it made him feel like he was a part of something bigger, albeit a small part. Harry always took the same train on the Underground and the same streets to walk on the way to work every morning. Leaving his small apartment at the same time every morning. He would walk two blocks to the left of his apartment building and take the Underground before getting off and walking one more block to his job at the tattoo parlor. He would arrive about an hour before opening and help wipe down the stations and needles with his coworker, Liam, before opening the shop. There were usually very little customers in the morning, but as the day grew closer to the afternoon, more customers would show up. One of Harry’s favorites was a guy by the name of Louis who would often come in for something new almost every other week. He would also bring many ideas with him, such as a tic-tac-toe game, a buck, little stick figures, and many smaller tattoos that looked like doodles covering his arms. After a full day of work, Harry’s shift would be over. He was thankful he didn’t have to work the night shift and deal with the stupid drunks who decided to get tattoos on a dare, drunkenly squirming the whole time and making his job even more difficult and in turn, making the process even more painful. 

Taking the familiar, busy streets while the sun was beginning to set, Harry would leave to go to his second job at the bar a couple streets over. Walking in, the faint smell of beer and greasy foods being prepared in the kitchen greeted him. The dim lights creating a hazy and comfortable feel, as if it was a whole new dimension shrouded in shadows of celebrations and an air of contentment. The bar was never too busy, but it’s most popular days were when football fanatics would come to watch the game on the old tv in the far corner above the bar or when a local musician would perform on the dingy stage near the back. The stage was more of a raised platform with scuffed wood flooring in the back corner than a real stage. To make up for the shitty lighting, exposed light bulbs strung from wires hung above it, swooping from one wall to the next, creating a simple glow to the stage corner. When the sound of the radio playing both old and new music lowly from the cheap speakers around the bar became too monotonous, local musicians would be payed to perform and bring some more life to the bar. While he couldn’t deal with drunk customers at the tattoo shop, he was alright with serving them at the bar. The drunker they were, the more drinks they would buy, and the more they would end up paying Harry. A plus for working there was that the guy who owned the bar and a friend of Harry’s, Zayn, would often give him some of the extra food that wasn’t sold from the back as a free dinner. Also, flirting with the cute men and women who would sit and watch him mix their drinks was another nice bonus. Their eyes always trained on his toned arms as he would do elaborate flips of the mixer to impress them and show off his skills. Usually these tricks would earn him a number or two and that would make Harry smirk and keep the slip of paper, napkin, or business card in his back pocket in case of an “emergency”. Those random faces were never fulfilling though, They would entertain him for a little bit, but they all seemed the same. No one really stuck out to him. There was no spark, no flicker. 

After his shift at the bar in the early hours of a new day, the sky would be black with a few sprinkling of stars dimmed by light pollution while the glow of buildings and street lamps illuminated his path. Even this late at night, there was still life to be found on the streets; late-night partiers stumbling home, stressed businessmen on their way home from extra hours at the office, the stray pieces of newspaper that would sometimes blow past Harry’s feet as he passed, showcasing a snippet of a story before being taken away again by the wind. When Harry was feeling especially joyful on his walk home, he would whistle, hum, or even sing. He had been told on a few occasions that he had a good voice, but he would usually shrug it off; he was happy with his jobs and didn’t feel like pursuing a career in music. Although the sound of a familiar song always seemed to make the walks home seem shorter.

By the time he reached his apartment building and had trudged to his door, digging out his keys and walking in, he was ready to pass out. Some nights he would even forget to change out of his work clothes. The small apartment wasn’t much, but it was his safe place, his home. Harry’s life probably wouldn’t be considered much to most, but he couldn’t have asked for more. 

… 

For some reason, Harry woke up earlier than usual and instead of going to back to bed like he normally would, he decided to get an early start on his day. With the extra time, harry took a little extra time in fixing himself up, styling his hair into perfection, and picking a shirt that was pretty clean for a change. Checking himself out in the wall mirror, Harry made sure everything was in place, slightly fixing his mini ponytail before grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone and heading out the door. 

The first difference that Harry notices is the way the air smells. While London is overrun by tourists, buses, and cars, for some reason the morning air smells fresher than on his normal commute. The next thing he notices is how small the crowds on the streets are compared to later in the morning. While it can never truly be London without some of the crowds, Harry feels less like he’s being pushed along the sidewalk by other commuters, but actually placing his feet on the pavement and walking. The blue of the sky is lighter than usual, accompanied by soft clouds stained pink by the newest rays from the sun. Harry closed his eyes and took a long moment to breathe and immerse himself in the feeling of the morning. 

The last thing he noticed was the music. He could faintly hear the strums of a guitar caught in the breeze and exhaust from passing cabs. Harry opened his eyes. After checking how much time he had left before work (a long-ass time), he followed the melody a few streets over. The path he took was slightly off of Harry’s normal commute and he took the time to appreciate the less familiar sights while being pulled along by the music. Small shops and businesses lined the street. One was a small boutique with simple dresses lined on racks outside showcasing a sale. Another was a small cafe that had a steady stream of people looking for their morning coffee to get through their hard day ahead of them. The last shop that Harry noticed was a small flower shop with several baskets of fresh daffodils, bluebells, and dark red carnations while also displaying several vases of peonies, tulips, and gardenias. The floral scent from the shop wafted down the street and seemed to intertwine beautifully with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of the melodious guitar to create a charming and alluring atmosphere.

When Harry came to the end of the street and found the source of the music, he almost tripped over a crack in the pavement. The music was floating from a street musician with a “well-loved” acoustic guitar and the face of a model. The open guitar case filled with a good collection of coins and bills showed that his skills with music were pretty popular. His fingers moved so skillfully along the strings it almost seemed like the strings were another part of him, moving with the soul of his song. While the song was beautiful, Harry didn’t know if anything made by nature or by man could compare to the street musician sitting on a stoop of a building in the middle of London. His hair was brown, longer on the top and close cropped on the sides of his head. It was artfully messy like he had been staying up late puzzling over the perfect lyric like a true starving artist. His pale skin looked soft in the morning rays of the sun. His sky blue t-shirt made his toned arms look fantastic and the grey ripped jeans and beat-up trainers completed the look. 

When he opened his pretty mouth and began to sing along to the guitar however was when Harry really started to have a heart attack. His voice had a slight Irish accent while singing and was the perfect combination of raspy and smoothe to make the sound unique and beautiful. The air was sucked out of Harry’s lungs listening to the beautiful melody that poured out of the Street musician like water. 

Harry wasn’t quite sure how long he stood at the end of the street staring at the musician before the musician finished his song with a couple quick strums and a powerful finishing note. He felt the air whoosh back into his lungs now that he could focus on something other than the performer’s voice and guitar. Unfortunately, that was the moment the performer decided to look up. If Harry had thought that the performer’s music was like water, then his eyes were like the ocean, a blue so deep and captivating that he could almost see the cresting waves. 

So focused on the musician’s eyes, Harry hadn’t noticed how long he had been staring at the musician until there was a pale hand waving in front of him. Realizing he had been openly gaping at the beautiful man, Harry quickly blushed and focused back in on the man. 

He was staring at Harry curiously, those blue eyes dragging over his appearance as if trying to examine who he was from the inside out. That was also the moment that Harry realized he was no longer across the street from the musician. In his amazed stupor, he had apparently crossed the street and was standing in front of the musical man. Quickly turning red, Harry dug a few pounds out of his pocket, dropped them into the open guitar case and spun around to walk to work, hoping that the musician hadn’t noticed his flaming red cheeks.

And as Harry briskly walked up the road towards the tattoo parlor, he didn’t realize that a stunning pair of blue eyes and a crooked smile were watching his retreating form.


	2. Finger Tips Putting on a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sees the pretty musician again and slowly starts to lose his mind, but it's ok 'cause it's just a crush, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like the new chapter! I don't know if my other updates are gonna be as fast as this one was but hopefully I can get them out quickly and finish it up soon! There's definitely gonna be around 6-7 more chapters (or more) after this one so look forward to that! Enjoy!

For the rest of Harry’s shift, the only thing he could think of while working at the parlor was the musician. While helping sketch out a girl’s ideas for a flower, he thought of the musician’s hair and how it was slightly lighter than the girl’s in front of him. After disinfecting one guy’s arm with a wipe, he thought of how smooth the musician’s pale skin looked and compared it to the guy he was working on. During the process of tattooing a bluebird onto a woman with many piercings, he imagined the blue color of the musician’s eyes and how they seemed to tease him from his memories. They were like the call of a siren, beautiful and alluring, but once caught, there was no hope for rescue, you belonged to the deep blue now. 

Liam had come up to Harry at the end of his shift and questioned his absent behavior, but Harry waved him off, assuring him that he was just a little tired and that he would be back to his usual self the next day. As he walked out the front door and into the early evening atmosphere, the small bell hanging above the door chiming, Harry found he was disappointed that the sounds of the city didn’t include a guitar and a melody rather than pedestrians and buses.  
…

Harry found that the act of handwashing dishes was a good way to clear his head. The rhythmic sounds of plates being scrubbed and rinsed usually flushed out any traitorous thoughts that ran laps around his brain. Grab a plate, soak, scrub, dry, repeat. The seemingly endless cycle of cleaning dishes was always able to clean out his busy mind. On days where the low melodies of the radio or of the musicians’ voices performing on the stage would drift into the kitchen, Harry would often find himself humming along and swaying his hips to the beat. He considered the process relaxing in general and whenever one of his co-workers couldn’t make it to their shift for washing duty, Harry would be the first to volunteer. The kitchen, in general seemed to be a safe space for his mind. The kitchen was separated in half by a half wall, dividing the kitchen between where the cooks made the food and the washing station with the sinks. The sink side was usually empty or very close to being so, creating an isolated, yet relaxed atmosphere. There was a backdoor that led out from the kitchen to a small alley behind the bar where the dumpsters and stray smokers were located. On days where Harry’s shift ended with washing dishes, he would just leave through the backdoor and make his way home without having to deal with the noisy crowd in the bar.

Today, however, no matter how hard Harry scrubbed the glasses in the basin in front of him, he couldn’t get a startling pair of blue eyes and pretty pale skin out of his head. That street musician had somehow wiggled into his mind and wasn’t going to get out, no matter how much Harry rinsed the glass. Even though the pretty street musician wouldn’t get out of his head, the brunette still dutifully rinsed and scrubbed every dish and glass in the stacks next to the sink. Just as he had begun to start on his third stack, the radio that was lowly playing a song by Fall out Boy cut out and was replaced by the sounds of a guitar being plucked and tuned. Based off the quality of the sound, Harry deduced that the music was coming from the bar and that a local musician must have been booked to play. 

When the guitar started to pick up the rhythm of a song seamlessly from the few warm up notes, Harry’s mind briefly flashed to the street musician from that morning, but quickly deflected those thoughts and focus back on the slosh of the water in the sink as he washed a particularly grimey dish. Harry remained in his little world of cleaning and swaying his hips to the beat until a familiar voice started to weave in seamlessly with the guitar. The plate in his hand nearly slipped into the soapy dishwater along with Harry’s sanity. That voice. He knows that voice. He’s spent the whole day thinking about that voice and those blue eyes. In a quick but careful sequence of events, Harry finished washing the plate, drying his hands, and rushing to the kitchen door to peek through. 

On stage was the same man that had been playing on the street corner. The same trainers, jeans, and blue polo that made his oceanic eyes stand out against the worn wood of the bar. His pale skin looked golden under the strings of lights hung above the stage and his voice oozed like honey from the two speakers set up near the stage. Harry listened attentively to the song and found it to be fun- he really liked it.

I’ll drink ‘til it’s empty 

Stay out ‘til it’s dead

I’ll wake up at midday

And marry my bed

The upbeat tempo and fast-paced strumming made Harry’s fingers involuntarily drum on the door frame he was leaning through. The lyrics and message of the song only seemed to make the bar more lively and spirited. When the music would reach a climax, some tables lifted their glasses and cheered. The street musician seemed to thrive in this environment, playing off the audience. Harry could tell he really loved his music by the way he would get lost in the lyrics and dance around the stage swinging his guitar like a golf club. 

Everybody’s got somebody

I just wanna be alone 

You could offer the world, baby

But I’ll take this instead

Many of the (seemingly) single people in the small bar would sing along and whistle with their favorite lines, giving sidehugs to buddies, and taking deep gulps of their drinks to spur them further into their drunken escapades. 

When the musician reached his final note, slowing down his strums, many patrons of the bar stood and clapped, whooped, and cheered. The musician had played a single song and had already captured their hearts. Harry’s small smile was not one of judgement, but happy and understanding. He too had been won over by the musician with a single song. 

...

The musician played a few more songs throughout the night, none quite as inspiring as his opening song, but all well-loved by the bar-goers. Like all good things, the musician eventually had to leave and bid the bar a goodnight in his smooth Irish accent before packing up his guitar. Harry eventually had to go back to work on the bar and watched as the musician walked up to his fellow bartender and ordered a quick beer for the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the musician took in the full layout of the bar, while not on-stage performing. He seemed content and Harry was unaware how dangerously close the musician’s gaze was to him before blue eyes met green. In that moment, for just a split second, the world became muted. Nothing but the musician and his blue, blue eyes existed in Harry’s vision before the musician was given his drink and the moment was shattered. The street musician looked down at the drink and, for a moment, seemed confused. Recognition quickly lit up his face and he took the glass from the bartender’s outstretched and left a wad of pounds on the counter before turning to walk out the door. 

Harry’s eyes wanted to stay glued to the musician’s back. They wanted to stare and stare until they watered and would be forced into blinking. They wanted to grab on and never let go, but he had a job and a customer in need of alcohol in front of him. Reluctantly peeling his eyes off the musician, he turned towards the customer and quickly refilled her glass, she was pretty, and while he would normally flirt with her and maybe get a number, he simply handed her her drink and took the money. He wasn’t in the mood. He looked back up quickly when he heard the heavy, wooden door to the bar creak open. The musician had opened the door to exit before turning around and making eye contact with Harry. When their eyes met again, a small smirk worked its way onto the musician’s face before he let the door thunk against the door frame behind him. 

Harry couldn’t hear the sound of the door closing over the sound of his pounding heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this please leave a comment or kudos, they're very appreciated. They make me smile whenever I see them! Next chapter will include the hurt/comfort so look forward to that!!!!


	3. Oh, my, my, You Just Took Me by Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised hurt/comfort and I've hopefully delivered! AND WE FINALLY LEARN THE "MYSTERIOUS" MUSICIAN'S NAME!!! 
> 
> AKA The musician is hurt and Harry offers to help him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted in a while- my computer crashed but I fixed it and I'm back to writing again! YAY!!!

For the next few weeks, Harry would wake up a little earlier than usual to get ready for the day and take the long way to work. And if he happened to put more effort into his appearance than usual, then that’s nobody’s business but Harry’s. Most (every) mornings, Harry would find himself “coincidentally” passing the same street he’d seen the street musician playing on and stopping to listen for a few minutes. Some mornings, he wouldn’t be there and Harry would feel a small pang of disappointment before getting a drink at the coffee shop across the street before heading to work. But other times, the street musician would be sitting with his well-loved guitar and playing his music. The musician would play covers of songs, originals, or requests if the people that would stop to listen asked him to. People who drank their morning coffee in front of the coffee shop would occasionally shout their requests across the street and the musician would chuckle before strumming his fingers across the strings and playing their songs. It seemed like there was no song that the man could not play. 

On several occasions, Harry had been tempted to make a request of his own, but he would always chicken out before walking off to work. Harry never seemed to notice the curious blue eyes that would trail after him. 

The musician had played a couple other times at the bar because of his already huge and growing popularity with the regular crowd. The nights that the musician would perform on the worn stage, the crowds would increase and the people were livelier in anticipation for their new favorite local musician. Those nights Harry found himself with more customers, more tips, and redder cheeks while watching the musician perform. The musician had quite the personality. Jumping and dancing for one song, then becoming serious and thoughtful, strumming the strings with more intent in the next. On the nights that the musician would get to far into his head, he would take dish duty, scrubbing at the plates while listening to the music through the closed door. It seemed to help his sanity when he wasn’t present for too many of the musician’s suggestive dance moves. There was just something about that musician that made it almost impossible for Harry to just get him out of his head! It was driving him crazy but he figured it would go away. The next time they made eye contact though, Harry had to add a ‘hopefully’. 

...

The next time Harry saw the musician was completely unexpected. The day had been one of those monotonously average days. The sky was a muted blue, coated in gray. The clouds not making any shapes, hovering just close enough to smudge out the sun’s yellow rays. At work, there were a few customers with simple tattoos, nothing too big or challenging, most of them outlined in black and filled with monochromatic colors. The walk to the bar was quick with a slight chill of the wind clinging to the skin that was exposed to the gray washed sky. No music was floating on the breeze. Even his shift at the bar was uneventful. No musicians seemed to be scheduled to play, only the radio played in the background. The people ordering their drinks were less chatty with Harry than usual, hardly any flirty or playful banter exchanged. The drinks were less exotic and in turn, his flamboyant tricks weren’t performed. He had migrated to the sinks in the kitchen washing dishes and letting the muted sounds from the bar wash over him when he heard a muffled sound coming from out the back door. Harry wasn’t sure but it sounded a bit like muted yelling and slamming against the brick walls that made up the building.

As Harry quickly dried his hands and approached the back door, the sounds of yelling seemed to be tapering off. Harry, not knowing what to expect, pulled open the door and found two men shrouded in the darkness. A big man seemed to be advancing on the second who was being backed into the brick alley wall. The smallest of the two men, being backed into the wall looked like he had already been roughed up a little already. An arm was wrapped around his middle protecting his ribs and the faint moonlight reflected off a trickle of blood leaking out of his nose. The biggest of the two figures started to raise his fist again and Harry jumped into action before the poor man could be hurt again. 

Running out of the door, Harry intercepted the punch, blocking it with his arm which hurt like hell, but he ignored it in favor of protecting the hurt man behind him. While the big man was still in slight surprise from being interrupted, Harry swung a quick punch to his jaw, grabbed the hurt man’s arm and began sprinting out of the alley, hopefully avoiding the big man’s presumably violent reaction. The slamming of feet on pavement and shouts from the man behind them were the only sounds that disturbed the dark London streets.

Eventually, the man chasing them had given up and stopped running after them, probably in favor of finding a bar to drink away even the slightest hint of sobriety. Harry did not stop running until they found themselves several blocks away where he deemed it was safe enough for them to rest. 

The feeling of the man’s pulse rapidly beating in the wrist still clutched in his grip and the sound of someone else’s panting was the only thing reminding Harry that he wasn’t alone. Harry dropped the other man’s wrist in favor of placing his hands on his knees and panting himself. Although he regularly attended the gym and was pretty strong and in shape, the run had taken a lot out if him. The adrenaline and the fear of being caught by those men made the run more exhausting physically and emotionally. It would take a few minutes for the adrenaline coursing through his veins to ebb away, he could already start to feel the stinging of his bruised and slightly bloody knuckles and the arm that had blocked the big man’s punch. 

When Harry had regained enough air in his lungs to speak, he turned to ask the other man if he was alright, but the air was promptly stolen from his lungs at the sight of the previously unknown stranger he had rescued. Even with a flush to his cheeks and blood dripping from his nose, Harry could still easily recognize the street musician. 

The shock wore off quickly when Harry noticed the musician trying to subtly clean his nose with his jacket sleeve. Now Harry may not be a doctor or a nurse, but he had seen plenty of rom-coms where the love interests take care of each other after being hurt, so he considered himself experienced enough to help the wounded musician. 

“Hey… my name is Harry,” Harry considered that a good start, hopefully he wouldn’t be too awkward around the really pretty street musician who currently looked a little worse for wear. An unexplainable urge to help take care of his wounds bubbled up inside Harry. 

The street musician’s blue eyes flicked over him quickly, seeming to assess the pros and cons of the situation before nodding slightly with a faint smile. “My name is Niall.” 

Niall. The name suited him, Harry thought before he shook the thoughts away and smiled, “Nice to meet you, Niall. I wish it was under better circumstances.” 

Niall’s smile widened a bit before an unnamed emotion seemed to fall over his expression and he looked down at his blood-stained sleeve. A jolt went through Harry, realizing that Niall was still bleeding and probably needed some of his mediocre at best medical attention. 

“I know this might be a bit forward, but my apartment is pretty close by and as attractive as a guy who was just in a fight is, I’d like to help you stop some of that blood. If it’s okay with you?” Harry offered his hand to take the guy to his apartment a couple of streets over. It took a couple of seconds for the realisation that he had mildly flirted with Niall to sink in and it caused his cheeks to faintly blush while he waited for his response.

“Yeah… Okay” Niall softly smiles up at Harry before his lip curls into a smirk and takes his hand, “But a guy who fights for me and protects me, that’s pretty swoon-worthy too.”

Harry blushes harder and mutters a “shut up” before leading him down the street towards his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know there's not a lot of comfort in this chapter, but there will be PLENTY in the next chapter! We got some classic tropes for comfort and some playful banter!! Also, thank goodness Harry finally plucked up the courage to introduce himself, my fingers were getting tired from typing out "street musician" every time I referred to Niall. 
> 
> ALSO! Thank you for everyone's support on the previous chapters!! Every single comment and kudos makes my day!


	4. I Love You Best When You're Just Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comfort is here!!! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I haven't been very motivated for a while, but I got a big burst of motivation today and I finally finished this chapter and I'm very proud! Enjoy!!

The walk to Harry’s apartment didn’t take too long and after a few teasing conversations, the two finally made it to the apartment. Harry drags Niall into the bathroom and plops him down onto the toilet, then goes to search through the cabinets for washcloths. Niall’s half hearted protests of being babied are quickly shushed by Harry as he wets the washcloth beneath the faucet. 

“Alright, so according to WebMD, you have a mild nosebleed and to treat it, I must apply continuous pressure to your nose for 10 minutes.” Harry recited dutifully from the website pulled up on his phone, before glancing at the washcloth in his hand, “BUT going off most movies I’ve seen, I could also just wipe at your nose with this washcloth and you should be good.”

“Wow,” Niall says, rolling his eyes, “Sounds like I’m being treated by a professional here.”

“Yep. You must refer to me now as Doctor Styles.” 

“Ok… Doctor Styles.” Niall looks up at Harry, smirking.

Harry gulps inaudibly. That should not be as hot as it was. Clearing his throat, Harry wrung out the washcloth over the sink to squeeze out some of the excess water before turning to face Niall. 

Harry bent down so that he could be eye level with Niall who was still sitting cross legged on the toilet, playing with a fray in his jeans. Reaching out, Harry gently placed the damp washcloth underneath his nose, softly wiping away the spots of dried blood. Harry heard a slight hitch in Niall’s breath as he dabbed at a bit of blood that had trickled to his upper lip. Harry spent the next few minutes diligently swiping away any of the new droplets that had made their way out of his nose. His eyes briefly flickered up and locked with deep blue. Harry’s hands stilled on Niall’s nose as the two kept gazing at each other. A spark, like nothing Harry had ever felt before seemed to be crackling between them as those blue eyes seemed to be getting closer and closer. The moment was broken when Niall winced as a pain stabbed through his middle. 

Harry backtracked immediately, blushing. His mind was spinning fast, trying not to imagine where things would have gone if they hadn’t been interrupted. He cleared his throat pointedly and stood up to put the washcloth in the sink, silently telling himself that he’ll put it in the washing machine later. 

“Alright, I guess Doctor Styles also must assess the potential damage in your ribs.” Harry said in a faux serious voice, bringing up WebMD yet again to research how to treat and assess Niall’s ribs. Niall cracked a small smile at Harry’s Doctor impression, fidgeting on the toilet seat to comfortably sit without straining his ribs. 

Harry skimmed through WebMD again, mostly just paying attention to the most important looking information and following the directions on the process of assessing if the ribs were broken. With a short warning, Harry leaned in and ran his hands along Niall’s chest, gently pressing on the ridges of his ribs. Besides the bruises splotched in several spots along his ribs, Niall’s torso was a pale color that looked soft in the lights of the bathroom. Niall’s skin was as soft as it looked and Harry wished that he had gotten to feel it under different circumstances. He quickly shoved those thoughts out of his head to focus on the task of feeling for broken ribs. As Harry gently pushed on the bruised skin, Niall would whimper a little at the pain, but otherwise kept a pretty straight face. 

“Well, it doesn’t look or feel like you have any broken ribs, so I guess it’s just really bad bruising.” Harry straightened up, reluctantly pulling his hand away from the wonderfully smooth skin of Niall’s torso. He quickly looked down at his phone to check the remedy for bruised ribs and to hopefully hide his blushing cheeks. “I don’t have any ice packs for your ribs, but I do have a couple bags of frozen sweet corn, so I think that’ll do the trick.”

“Specifically sweet corn?” Niall asked with an amused smirk. 

“Yes, specifically sweet corn. They’re very delicious.” Harry stated haughtily before walking down the hall towards his kitchen, reaching into the freezer and grabbing two bags of the frozen sweet corn. He turned around to walk back to the bathroom where Niall was supposedly waiting for him, when he slammed into Niall, who had apparently followed him to the kitchen. 

Harry stumbled backwards and caught himself using the front of the sink. His arm quickly crumpled in pain and caused Harry to grab it with a gasp, cradling it to his chest. He had forgotten about blocking the punch of the big man and hurting his arm in the process. Looking at it now, it was slightly swollen and a weird purpley-blue-ish color. Harry had forgotten about Niall in the kitchen because of the pain, so he was surprised when pale fingers gently grabbed his arm and slowly pulled it away from his chest. Niall’s piercing blue eyes scanned over the injury quickly before turning around and grabbing one of the bags of frozen corn that had fallen on the floor and with a reassuring smile, pressed it to Harry’s swollen arm. Harry was shocked at the sudden temperature change and let out a little gasp that caused Niall to smile a little wider, before the cold began to numb the pain in his arm. Harry looked up at Niall in shock.

“Thanks, y-you didn’t have to-”

“Yes I did.” Niall cut in with gentle eyes and a crooked smirk. “I can’t have my trusty doctor in pain. He needs to be in tip-top shape in order to treat me properly.”

Harry let out a short burst of surprised laughter before he bent down and grabbed the extra bag of frozen corn and lifting Niall’s shirt to press them to his bruised ribs. Niall squeaked at the sudden cold and jumped back as Harry laughed. 

“Get that frozen bag of sweet corn abomination away from me!”

“Doctor Styles has been revived by the power of sweet corn! Now it is time to perform frozen sweet corn surgery on the dying patient!” Harry laughed, chasing Niall into the lounge with the bag of frozen corn brandished in hand. Niall giggled and circled the couch to try and get away from the ‘threat’ of the frozen corn. They ran after each other, each laughing at the other’s poor attempt at witty banter. Finally, Harry caught up to Niall and breathlessly pushed him onto the couch. They were both still laughing ridiculously as Harry raised the bag of frozen sweet corn above his head like a sword while sitting atop Niall’s legs on the couch.

“Doctor Styles is victorious in his conquest to heal the ailing patient and this day will go down in history as the day of sweet corn healing!” Harry shouted victoriously.

“Noooo!” Niall squealed as Harry placed the cold bag onto his ribs. Niall squirmed, playfully trying to get rid of the bag, but quickly gave up in favor of actually treating his ribs.

As their giggles started to subside and the numbing of the frozen corn started to chase away the pain in Niall’s ribs, they both realised the position they were in on the couch. Niall was pinned to the couch with Harry straddling his legs, careful to avoid straining Niall’s ribs. Both men blushed as Harry scrambled to get off of Niall before toppling himself off the couch and landing on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Niall poked his head over the side of the couch, little strands of hair falling past his forehead as he checked on Harry on the floor. When he realised Harry was alright, Niall burst into laughter at the humiliated Harry shoving his face into his hands. 

The rest of the night proceeded in much the same way, giggling and exchanging friendly banter as if the two had known each other much longer than a night. They had immediately clicked, it was pretty incredible in Harry’s opinion. And when Niall had asked if he could crash at Harry’s house for the night instead of trying to walk all the way home, Harry could feel a hint of something small in the middle of his chest. Something he had never felt before. It was only there for a split second, but Harry could tell what it was. 

A flicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's reaction to WebMD was based off of me looking up how to treat the various injuries in this chapter. If anyone is wondering whether Harry's arm is broken, sprained, or whatever... I just gave upon coming up with injuries and looking up the proper way to treat them, so enjoy my laziness. Also, in my extensive research of 1D, it stated that Harry's fav food was sweet corn. Don't know if that's true or not, but I decided to include it anyway. Next chapter will include some Harry and Louis friendship!

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more chapters soon, I have a lot written already, I just didn't want to post it without finishing it up so I'm seperating it into chapters so that I can work on it and publish it at the same time. So, I hope you all look forward to that!! Also comments and kudos are appreciated!! Please tell me if something is inaccurate or wonky and I can fix/improve it later in the fic. <3


End file.
